


Beginning the Game

by Jenshih_Blue



Series: The Wonderland Series [2]
Category: Luther (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Episode Related, Episode: s07e18 Party on Garth, Gen, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alice Morgan has discovered something far more fascinating than she ever expected in the States. It’s just the beginning of the game and who can guess the winner. Alice is willing to bet, whoever wins, it’ll be one hell of a ride with her newest prey the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning the Game

Alice stood at the end of an uneven sidewalk, short brunette wig covering her natural red hair, and brown contacts disguising pale blue eyes. One of the things she’d learned early in life was the average person only paid attention to the exterior appearance of others in a general way; eye color, hair color, etc. If the people whose paths they crossed created the tiniest bit of discomfort with their presence, they would push even those things aside in an attempt to forget. Forgetting was preferable to admitting there were reasons not to walk through life blind, deaf, and ignorant.

Alice was one of those reasons ignorance wasn’t bliss.

She’d been following the two young men for some time now as they rambled through state after state, leaving a trail of desecrated graves, unexplained deaths, and property damage, not to mention the marked people. Those people they’d saved and yet none of them felt truly saved. Their lives turned upside down and abandoned much like an apple cart, the fruit of their existence smashed on the cobblestones of disbelief and terror.

“You do know if you could hide your sulfuric stench perhaps you would be able to surprise me on occasion.” She smiled flash of perfect white against the crimson of her lipstick.

Crowley snorted. “You do realize, love, they more than likely know they’re being followed by you.”

She turned, smile widening even further if possible and Crowley shuddered at the look in her eyes. Even with the contacts, she couldn’t hide what she was and what she was remained a mystery to him. When he’d first laid eyes on Alice Morgan, weeks ago, he’d made the mistake of believing she was simply one of a thousand black-eyed soldiers of Hell he was in charge of—being King of Hell and all. To his surprise, she was very much human. At least in theory she was although he had his doubts.

“They’re being followed by far worse than me, dear.”

“I doubt that, Alice.”

The way he said her name sent shivers of delight through her body. It amused her to no end the self-proclaimed King of Hell needed to change his knickers after he spoke with her every time. To be an immortal and powerful being yet cling to mortal fears was an interesting concept in Alice’s opinion as she studied the other world. Even John her beloved soul mate had more courage than this creature, fractured even as he was.

“You give me far more credit than I deserve, Crowley—or should I say Fergus?”

Crowley shuddered again. “How the bloody hell did you…?”

She pressed one gloved finger to his lips and shushed him. “I have my secrets, you have yours, and never the twain shall meet.”

Eyes narrowed, she turned back to the where the Winchester boys were packing their vehicle and bidding fair well to the young man (she believed his name was Garth) who’d called them for help. Garth amused her, but not as much as Crowley or the Winchesters did. Dean, the older of the brothers, was her present preoccupation, but not for the reasons most would gather. Yes, it was true he was pretty; a word most would never contemplate to describe a man of his age. His exterior beauty wasn’t what she was interested in though. She’d rather see what lay inside, hidden beneath layers of skin and muscle, especially what was encased in the delicate skull atop his shoulders.

Over time as she’d followed them, she’d picked Crowley’s brain and the demon was happy enough to spill his guts figuratively. Alice imagined it was his way of not making an enemy of her. She would say he was on the right track.

In her short life, Alice had never imagined there were other worlds, darker worlds, hidden beneath what society recognized and from what she’d learned Dean Winchester might be the perfect key to tap into those worlds. Of course, if he didn’t work out there was always his brother, Sam. Both had visited the other worlds, both sides to be precise if Crowley were telling the truth.

Who would have believed both Heaven and Hell existed?

According to Crowley, both brothers had spent time in Hell; Dean for forty years and Sam for one hundred eighty or at least Sam’s soul had. That was the reason Alice discovered herself torn between which one to choose first. Dean had died at the hands of what Crowley had claimed was the first demon to exist—Lilith—who had held the contract for his soul. The little man had actually sounded pissed about it, leaving Alice to file that particular observation away for further investigation later.

“Wherever is your devious mind wandering to, love?”

She blinked and turned back to the demon as the Winchesters left the parking lot of the motel in a cloud of dust and squealing tires. “You told me Lilith was the holder of Dean Winchester’s contract.”

“Yes.”

There was the annoyed tone again…curiouser and curiouser.

“This Lilith where is she? I would love to have a chat.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Trust me, darling, there was never such a thing as having a chat with that baby-eating whore, and even if there were she’s dead.”

Lips pursed, Alice walked around the corner and headed toward the door of the room the Winchesters had stayed in, one finger crooking in a come-hither motion. “Do tell, Fergus, how exactly does a demon die?”

Crowley flinched at the mention of his human name. He rather preferred the moniker the peon demons called him, Lucky the Leprechaun. Little snot-nosed, black-eyed bastards thought he was oblivious, but being oblivious when you were the dark overlord of Hell was impossible if you wanted to continue breathing.

“Now why would I tell you that?”

She focused on him once more and stepped closer until air would be lucky to pass between their bodies. One leather encased hand lifted to caress Crowley’s cheek in a lover’s touch and his eyes drifted shut. “Because you enjoy being what you are and I truly doubt you wish to be in pain.”

“Pain?” he questioned.

Alice smiled as his eyes opened and he lowered them to where she held a familiar knife in hand, tip of the blade hovering above his crotch. “Yes, pain, sweetie.”

“How did you get that blasted knife from them?”

She leaned closer, hand steady, breath warm against the curve of Crowley’s ear and whispered. “I didn’t. You know it is astonishing what one can find if one has the money and connections. You see the knife is not as unique as you might think.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Crowley focused on Alice’s face. “I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about, love.”

Alice pulled back, lifting the knife so the late afternoon light glinted off the polished blade. She tipped her head, studied him for a moment, and then laughed. “You really are telling the truth. You have no idea—do you?”

“About exactly what, darling? Whether you’ll leave my naughty bits intact?”

“About the knife or where it came from.”

He frowned in irritation. Ruby’s knife had been one of many mysteries he’d been looking into before the Winchesters had obliterated his carefully constructed plans for Purgatory. The only ones who’d known according the information he’d gather were Lilith and her lapdog bitch Ruby, but they had both bitten the eternal big one courtesy of the Winchester brothers.

“The only two twits who knew where it originated got their bloody arses killed by those two hairless apes in denim.” He spit out.

Alice tapped the blade of the knife against her lips as she considered Crowley’s words, eyes twinkling in amusement, “I would guess one would be this Lilith and the other?”

“Some stupid bint name of Ruby working for her; two of them had about as much sense as a turnip.”

“How?”

“How what?”

Spinning the knife between her fingers, Alice grinned. “How did they die?”

“Like I said the hairless apes.”

She pointed the blade at his throat, grin fading. “I meant how were they killed.”

Crowley swallowed hard as he stared into her eyes. “Wasn’t there, love, but what I learned from the Hell 411, Sam killed Lilith while he was juiced on demon blood. Released Lucifer by doing it and started the goddamn Apocalypse. The other one, Ruby, well Dean ended her on the point of the pig sticker in your hand.”

“This isn’t their knife.” Alice offered once more, heading back toward the motel room.

“What do you mean it’s not theirs?”

“Exactly what I stated, it’s not the one they carry. There is a set of these exquisite blades, five to be precise.”

His eyes grew wide as he stopped in his tracks. “Five?”

Alice chuckled, slipping the blade beneath her coat. “I don’t believe I stuttered, Fergus.”

“But—five?”

“Yes.”

For the second time in the past few months, Crowley discovered himself speechless, not a good thing for a man in his position. If he were to believe Alice Morgan, there were at least three more blades identical to the one the Winchesters had confiscated from Ruby. One demon-killing blade was one too damn many in his opinion, but now.

“Do close your mouth before you swallow a bug, love.” Alice knelt and removed a pick kit from her coat pocket. “It wouldn’t be right for you to choke to death after I decided not to end your miserable existence.”

Crowley blinked and closed his mouth. “How may I ask did you acquire this tasty tidbit of information?”

As the tumblers fell into place, the door creaked open, and Alice glanced up at Crowley with a beatific smile worthy of any angel. “As I said before one can discover numerous things depending on cash flow and contacts. Now, may I suggest you make yourself useful and ascertain where those beautiful, angst-riddled, pawns have wandered off to?”

Without a word, Crowley vanished in a gust of sulfur-laced air.

Pushing to her feet, Alice moved into the motel room, closing the door behind her and stood motionless taking in the details. The beds were empty, mussed, the covers tangled, and smelling of alcohol-tinged perspiration not to mention the stale onions from the appalling lunch the men had devoured the afternoon before. Little was left behind other than burger wrappers, a two day old newspaper and empty beer bottles, one of which she picked up and sniffed, delicate nose wrinkling in disgust. When would these Americans learn to make a decent beer?

There was also frostiness to the air that had nothing to do with the air conditioning and she smiled, faint tilt of her lips. She’d noticed the temperature difference a few towns back. It never lingered long after the men left, almost as if it couldn’t exist without their presence. After a bit it became crystal clear to Alice what the source was.

“Still here are you?” she whispered to the empty room. “I haven’t told that ghastly wee demon about you yet. I imagine he would know who you are considering the time he’s invested in your friends.”

She moved about the room, gloved hand trailing along the wall.

“You do realize what I want with them—right?”

The air grew colder and the drapes stirred, a sense of anger filling the room.

“Oh, yes I imagine you do, but then they don’t know you’re here. You have no way of telling them…” she paused, spinning in a circle, laughter blooming from her lips. “Even if you did it wouldn’t matter—would it? I’m not one of their monsters lurking under the bed or hiding behind the door, haunting decrepit manors. They wouldn’t kill me.” Her expression took on that of an innocent child. “I’m simply a terrified young girl in search of protection.”

There was a rush of wind and the door flew open, slamming back against the wall. Seconds later whatever had been lingering was gone. Alice smiled as she followed the path of the energy’s exit into the fading afternoon light.

John would be proud of his girl. She hadn’t killed a single person since coming here to the States. Of course, it wasn’t the death itself Alice Morgan craved as most women craved chocolate—No, not at all.

It was the hunt itself, the intellectual game of cat and mouse.

And as Sherlock Holmes would’ve said, the game was afoot.


End file.
